


Going Going Gone

by PBJellie



Series: South Park Kink Meme Requests [6]
Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/pseuds/PBJellie
Summary: Tweek is a camboy to pay for his habit.Written for the South Park Kink Meme.





	Going Going Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the South Park Kink Meme. 
> 
> Camwhore Tweek pls. This boy likes acting and attention.  
>  
> 
> Title from the Stars song of the same name.

“Hello gentlemen,” Tweek sauntered, green button up slipping slightly off of his shoulder. It was a touch too big, but he never buttoned the top three buttons, anyways.

Not for the camera.

“I see some of you are back from this morning, I appreciate it. It feels like it's been so long since we chatted,” he said, eyes fixed on the number of watchers on the feed.

Twenty, twenty watchers, men, usually men, he'd never spoke to anyone who claimed to be a woman. It didn't matter who watched. What mattered was the contents of their pockets, how thick their wallet was.

A few pings of messages rolled across the screen, a few simple hellos, and I missed you, a string of inappropriate emojis.

“Work was hard,” he ran a hand through his hair, twitching slightly. It wasn't a lie. His parents still didn't pay him a wage, but he was allowed to keep his tips. But that wasn't hardly anything, there wasn't any money in South Park, Tweek knew that.

And Tweek needed money.

“But I'm excited to be with you,” he smiled, trying not to force it. He was the best actor in South Park, or the teacher at the county high school had said. Not that being the best at anything meant much in this small town.

“Are you excited to see me?” He took a pause, he batted his eyes a few times.

And the chat blew up.

“Oh, you missed me? I missed you too, honey.” God, honey was his word. He was letting honey be co-opted by these men, strangers, these perverts.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he waved his hand, fingers twitching individually.

“Get to the good part?” He snorted, laughing as he rolled his eyes. “Am I not the good part for you?”

“Aw, thanks, sugar,” the words dripped lazily from his mouth, like a faucet that wouldn't stop. He willed himself to forget whose words those were, who used to whisper those words in his ear. “I think you're great, too.”

He licked his lips, letting his tongue sweep slowly over his cracking lips. He needed chapstick. He itched at his inner elbow, through his shirt, over the tiny scabs that dot his veins.

He wouldn't get chapstick. He never did. He'd just go to his dealer and get distracted. Distracted, hah. That's how he rationalized it to Craig. He didn't mean to sell his camera, he didn't mean to pawn his laptop, he was just distracted.

Unsurprisingly, Craig didn't buy it.

Craig didn't want to live his life chained to a drug addict.

Honestly, Tweek didn't either.

“Oh,” he sighed, “I'm not sad. Don't worry about me, don't worry. Just don't worry.”

“Alright, alright, I'll get to the show,” he smiled, letting it stretch across his face. He unbuttoned slowly, fingers dancing along the buttons. He looked up, through his eyelashes. That was always Craig's favorite. How could someone so blonde have such thick eyelashes? He'd ask. How? And what right did he have to look so good with a dick in his mouth.

“You're right, I shouldn't be so shy. I'm glad you like it. Makes me happy you like me. Like the way I look.” He blushed, not a real blush, but if they knew, they didn't care. He shrugged off his shirt, letting it slip down his shoulders, pooling around his wrists.

“What?” He shrieked? “You want me to what?” A message, from a regular, or a regular enough. They came and they went, but this man had been here for at least a month. And he wanted Tweek to use. He'd send a hundred dollars, if Tweek was willing to shoot up on camera. He wants to see his baby boy get happy.

Gross.

“No,” he breathed deeply, twisting a nipple in his fingers. “That's not what I wanna do, Daddy.” The word was like acid on his tongue. “Maybe, maybe,” he ticked, eyes slamming shut and head slamming down, “maybe next time, I'll show you. I'm trying to get sober. I want to,” he let the words die in his mouth.

“I wish you were touching me,” he steered the conversation back on track. “I,” he sucked in a breath, voice squealing as he twisted, “I like when you do that.” 

“Do you want me to touch myself?” He dropped his hands, leaning in towards the camera. “For you, I'll do it. Because you're so nice to me.”

He dipped his hand into his pants, scooting back into the frame. He bit his bottom lip, peeling off his jeans. They were Craig's jeans. He left them, he left them in Tweek's bedroom.

It'd been a year, and he hadn't called for the pants. He hadn't called at all.

He wasn't going to call.

They were Tweek's pants now, he decided.

And they were coming off.

“No,” he blushed, the blush he always used. He thought that they liked it. They seemed to like it. “No, I don't wear underwear.”

“Personal choice?” He shrugged, letting his fingers tangle in the pubic hair around his dick. “Do you like it?” He asked, he tilting upwards in his chair, angling himself for the camera.

“I'd like to see yours, too,” he smiled, sucking on a finger. “One day, I hope.”

Another message on the screen. A request for him to grab his spoon.

“No, please stop,” he keened, folding in on himself. “I'm not going to. I don't, nnn, want to show you that. I don't even want to do that. I don’t have any.” If he had some, he wouldn't be naked for a camera, that was certain.

“Yeah, I'll touch myself,” he whispered, trying to ignore the other messages. His hand loosely gripped his dick, sliding up and down. He should have used lube, or lotion, or something. He never did though. Not for these men.

“That feels so good,” he threw his head back, partially for the show of it, partially to ignore the man begging him to use on camera. The messages kept pinging as he keened and moaned beneath his own touches.

His breathing became erratic as he came to a climax. He was careful not to say any names, Craig's name, as he came. These men did not like thinking he was attached. Even if he wasn't. Even if he was just hopelessly tied to Craig.

He kissed at the camera, leaning in before he signed off, but there was notification, private, from the man who had bombarded him with requests. 

 

_ I can get you free drugs.  _

 

_You don't even know where I live_ , he typed, closing the live stream. He'd only made twelve dollars, ten after the website took their cut, nothing much. He was losing his touch. Yelling at a customer, a guest, was bad form. He knew that. 

 

_ South Park? Meet me at the train tracks in twenty.  _

 

A smarter Tweek would have told this man to go fuck himself. He would have closed his account, chucked his computer out the window, and ran out of town.

Tweek was not smart. Not when he was jonesing.

He made it to the train tracks in fifteen, shivering from the cold, or withdraws. It felt better to think it was the cold. Tweek liked to feel good. He liked to feel good so much that he was standing near SoDaSoPa, trembling in the wind, hoping that this mystery man was going to gift him a baggie of heroin.

It was probably Garrison, or one of the other old perverts in town. Maybe Srgt. Yates.

“Fuck,” he hissed, breath coming out in white puffs. “Don't want to go to jail.”

But he stood there anyways, shaking in the cold, hoping someone was about to bring him a gift. He knew he'd have to suck this man off, maybe even ride him, but it was a small price to pay, right?

Christ, when did he get so gross?

“I saw your little show,” a figure called from the distance. Tweek's instinct was to flee, but why bother. There was a chance, no matter how small, that he'd have some heroin for him. “Guess you ran out of other people's shit to sell, so you're selling yourself.”

“Yep,” he jutted his chin out, letting the cold nip at his face.

“How fucking noble, Tweek. A bunch of nasty old men have seen your dick, are you happy?”

“Do you have any?” He asked against his better judgement. If Craig had heroin, then he was happy.

“Of fucking course not,” he groaned. “Like I'd give you any, even if I did.”

“Do you?”

“I said I didn't. I've got like half a joint in my car, you can have it if we can get out of the goddamn cold.” And Tweek was at his heels, trudging behind Craig, like old times, for a promise that was probably empty. But just in case. Just in case Craig had a joint, half or otherwise, he ought to check.  

“I heard you let Kenny fuck you for drugs,” he spat, unlocking the car manually. His hands weren't shaking, he could get the key in on the first try. Good old Craig.

“I didn't-”

“Don't lie. I came back to see you, don't start this with a goddamn lie. I heard it from Clyde. Clyde heard it straight from Kenny.”

“Sometimes,” he said softly, speaking into his hands as he climbed into the passenger seat of his Toyota. They'd fucked here before, more than once.

“Bet you've got a disease now. Bet Kenny's not the only one,” he roared, starting the car.

“Where's the joint?” Tweek asked, picking at the skin on his hands. The car was moving, the car shouldn't be moving. He fumbled with the door, hoping to pull the latch before they were moving too fast.

The doors locked with a click.

“Sit your ass down, and put on your seatbelt. I'm so disappointed in you. I've never been so disappointed in my whole fucking life,” he was leaving town. Why were they leaving town? “You keep breaking my trust.”

“We're not a thing anymore,” Tweek shouted, fighting to get the door unlocked. If he had to jump out of the car as they merged onto the highway, then so be it.

“So it's cool to meet a stranger, a fuck, Tweek, a fucking stranger who jacks off to your little sad cam boy show? You walked to the shitty part of town, to get, shit, to get drugs, or murdered!”

“It turned out, ngh, fine,” he hissed, not adding his thoughts about how it was unfair that Craig didn't actually have anything for him.

“Because it was me, me your stupid lovestruck ex boyfriend, who thought, maybe, just maybe you were fucking worth something! Maybe you wouldn't meet a stranger for drugs. Maybe you were trying to quit!”

“I'm always trying to quit,” he whispered. “I don't, ngh, I don't like doing it.”

“How long since you got high? Huh? Since you want to quit so fucking bad.”

Tweek was silent.

“Tell me! Be honest,” he pounded his hands on the steering wheel, then grabbed until his knuckles were white. “You owe me that much.”

“I don't,” he said harshly. “I don't have, ngh, have to tell you. I'm gonna be sick,” he complained.

“Then puke in my goddamn car. Feel something bad for once. You can feel some of this bad shit, instead of me.”

“Poor Craig,” he clutched at his stomach. He did not want to puke in Craig's car. He didn't want to afford him that satisfaction.

“You fucking robbed me,” he screamed, face turning red. “I let you move in with me and your robbed me to pay for your shitty habits. How's the meth treating you, Tweek? Is it better to you than I was?”

“Just heroin,” he sighed, feeling his will to fight leave him. He was going to puke in this car. Hopefully, it ruined the interior. “I just take the heroin now. I can,” he faltered, falling back into the seat, “I can suck Kenny off for the difference with the heroin. They don't let you do that at the clinic.”

“What?” Craig's tone softened. “What clinic?”

“What do you care? I'm just your, nnngh, your nasty whore ex-boyfriend who stole all your shit. Get your fucking laugh in, Tucker. Get your fucking laugh in, before I jump right out of this fucking car.” Tweek pulled at the lock, unable to grip it in his shaking hands.

“Honey,” he slowed the car, pulling over in the freeway. “Just talk to me.”

“I ruined that, gah! word, Craig. I, nnn, ruined it,” he ran his hands through his shaggy hair, pulling as the reached the ends. His stomach swam. Had eaten today?

Stomach acid would peel the dashboard, all the same.

“Calm down,” he said in his nasally voice. At one point in his life, that voice would have been enough. “I'm taking you to Denver. You're gonna stay with me.”

Tweek laughed, pulling at his hair harder. What a good joke. Craig had always been funny. Their friends had never seen it, but Tweek knew, Tweek knew Craig was a funny guy. Subtle sarcasm, that was his style. Offer your ex heroin through a cam video, then drive him to Denver. Hah, he'd probably kick him out somewhere downtown, make him hitchhike back.

“Stop that,” Craig's voice was stern. “Stop all this crazy shit.”

“Oh Craig,” he sighed, finally gripping the lock in his fingers. “Wish I could.” With one jerky movement, he flung himself out of the door, and raced down the highway.

Craig didn't follow him.

As he unlocked his door, he wished he did. He wished Craig followed him with everything in him. Every fibre of his being that could hope, hoped that he'd be there.

“Honey,” Mrs. Tweak, eyes glassy called out from the kitchen. “Your friend dropped by, the cute one.”

“Nnn?” He asked, not trusting his control over language.

“He left something in your bedroom,” she sighed, scrubbing a spot on a pan. They never cooked in the house. The pans never got dirty.

Or maybe they did, and he was just to sideways to remember.

“He said he'd be back in half an hour and, what was it, don't touch that white trash bastard.” She didn't look up from the dishes.

He sprinted up the stairs, hoping his feet would carry him that far. They did, for the most part, though he tripped over the fifth step. He didn't fall.

It was okay to trip, as long as you didn't fall.

There was a note, folded in a diamond, like when they were kids. In the center, resting above his name, was a small reddish orange pill.

Something he couldn't afford. Suboxone. He paid twenty a pill for that luxury. He only ever had enough for a week at most.

How could Craig afford it?

He tucked the pill under his tongue and unfolded the note, which read, quite simply:

 

_ Jump out of my car again and I'll hit you with it. Pack a bag, you fucking idiot. _

  
  
  



End file.
